You Could Make A Killing
by aj655321
Summary: Alan has an accident on the race track, but before long John's life is also threatened. Are the Thunderbirds having a streak of bad luck or is something more sinister at play?
1. Chapter 1

YOU COULD MAKE A KILLING 

_Feedback appreciated by review or by e-mail to before you go looking for pictures of the Stoker, it doesn't exist. The name came from the Thompson boiler and has no real relevance other than the plans being on my wall._

Chapter One 

"Yeah, didn't get the vibration that time, but still wanna drop the float a touch, she actually felt like she was running a little rich," Alan recited, not noticing the creasing of Kenny's brow.

"Alan, you're just not used to the new setup, float is perfect, trust me on that. You're just getting paranoid. We've had TD's out here for the last few weeks. Besides, we ran an analysis on the sparks and normal levels of carbon. You're not driving a road car, Granny. I'm actually thinking maybe a vacuum leak."

"Vacuum? How? We're not running a road car!"

"Alan…" The sentence did not need to be finished; the exasperation in Kenny's voice communicated his plea for Alan to be open minded and was clearly understood. The truth was, they almost were running a road car. The Stoker had only just been allowed into the class due to a recent regulation overhaul and it had already been a lot of work to bring it up to racing standards.

Alan put down the water bottle he had been gulping from and ran a hand through his hair. It had been plastered to his head by the heat under his helmet and had started to give him a familiar itch. The action caused to stick up on end in all directions, but he didn't bother to tidy it. After his seconds thought he nodded quietly in agreement. "OK, so we check the hoses, but I want a sensor on the exhaust. I'm sure we're still a little rich and I'm sure it's because of the float."

"Twenty dollars sure?" Kenny smirked.

"Of course," Alan replied, instantly wondering if he actually did have a twenty lying around in his wallet. He was only the handler of their baby; it was Kenny who had engaged in a full blown love affair with Number 24. As much as Alan hated admitting that he was wrong, it was something he had to get used to while they had been working together.

Not that Kenny wasn't gracious about it, apart from the occasional 'I am right and you are wrong' dance around the workshop. The fact that the dance made Kenny look like an amateur break dancer suffering from oxygen deprivation meant that the action was never anywhere near as cutting as the symbolism.

The two were silent for a moment, staring at the Stoker and analysing the last run in their heads. For Kenny it was lists of data, specifications and analysis, but for Alan it was just the adrenaline winding out of his system. Alan was the first to break the repose, unzipping his overalls, finishing off the water and headed to the computer displaying the run data. Seeing this Kenny called out, "Hey Alan!"

"Yeah?" Alan asked, still staring at the computer screen.

"Good run."

"Thanks."

"When you get a chance, take a look at your 9th lap time." Kenny disappeared out into the back garage.

Alan's heartrate started to pick up again after having almost returned to normal. He had felt it was a good lap. Not wasting a second he pulled up the screen and saw a pleasing number before him - they had cut almost half a second off their best lap time from three days ago. He smiled to himself and leaned back in the chair, resting his head on his hands.

Just then Warren walked in, "Alan, good to see you hard at work."

Alan spun his chair around and wordlessly nodded at the magazine in Warren's hand.

Warren did not respond to the challenge. "Michael has misplaced an old hose. The PCV hose was acting up so we replaced it. Possible that the old one went in."

Alan's jaw would have dropped had he not just had the previous conversation with Kenny. After that he should have been expecting some freak error like that which was just described to him.

"Sorry." Warren stated without emotion.

Alan watched as Warren returned to the office. All of the team had a lot of respect for their leader - he was easily one of the brightest engineers they knew (although Alan secretly had a few exceptions). However, Warren was notorious for his short temper, lack of social graces and general analytical approach to everything, including the human condition. Of course, knowing this, nobody on the team ever took offence by his abrupt behaviour and viewed it as an endearing part of his persona.

Alan quickly browsed through the summary of the remainder of the data before getting to his feet again feeling the tiredness in his muscles far more pronounced. He stretched quickly and then navigated his way to the showers still smiling quietly to himself.

-

The next morning Kenny walked in with two coffees in hand. He walked over to Alan who had just finished discussing the days strategy with Warren. He offered one coffee over to Alan. Alan took it suspiciously. "What brought this on?"

"I went out for a full breakfast on your twenty, little man. Had a few dollars left over so thought you might like a coffee, because, well here…"

Alan put the coffee down and caught what Kenny had just thrown at him. After studying for a second he said, "This is 24's-"

"I know," Kenny interrupted.

"Does that mean-"

"Yup", Kenny interrupted again, "But remember what the bet was."

Alan nodded and grinned, studying the jet in his hand.

"Yo Alan!" a voice called out from behind him.

Alan turned around, placing the jet next to the coffee. "Yeah?"

The young mechanic held up his helmet. "Ready when you are."

Alan nodded thoughtfully. He pulled on his gloves and fastened the helmet before climbing into the Stoker.

Kenny stood back to allow the technicians to take their readings and make their final calls. He smiled at the sound of the engine humming, slightly lumpy, begging to be opened up. Of course, Alan heard the same plea and roared off towards the first hairpin.

Alan wound around the track easily for the first time letting the car warm up. As he approached the finishing straight he hit the accelerator. The power under his foot kicked him back into the seat and he felt the engine grunt. Only this time he knew he did not imagine the hesitation - it was actually rather pronounced. He silently cursed Kenny as he had lead Alan to believe that the mixture had been leaned and here he was about flood the damn carburettor. Kenny was a good mechanic though - far from being one of the power hungry dogs that burned down the quarter miles in public places he understood the delicacy of the basics. He should not have made such an elementary mistake, unless…

Alan never had time to finish his lightening quick stream of thought. The flames that burst out in front of him presented a much more imminent threat than Kenny's possible malevolence.

Alan managed to hit the brakes and tried to pull the Stoker off the track, but the smoke limited his vision considerably. He switched to automatic pilot, running on his mental recall of the track layout. However his skill only got him off the track where he then entered uncharted territory and luck was against him. A heavy shudder ran through the body of the car and Alan heard the engine stall. The noxious smoke began to fill his helmet and thus became him only air supply. He knew he had to get out of the car and fumbled for the harness. His fingers were clumsy and his brain refused to work. Through the mental fog he could still anticipate Warren's angry diatribe - this would push him well over budget.

-

The distance between Kenny and Alan was not enough to notice the difference in the speeds of light and sound, but Kenny would have sworn he saw the flames before he heard the horrendous crunch and crackle of the Stoker engine. The inferno was so unexpected that he had to stare for several seconds before his eyes could really understand what they were seeing. The shouts around him jostled him into action and he started running towards the car which was parked in one of the tyre barriers.

When he got there the flames had already been extinguished and the first aid team were kneeling beside Alan. Kenny wondered who had managed to get Alan out and made a mental note to find out and later thank whomever it was. But for now he let go of the breath he had been holding and watched the medics transfer Alan onto a stretcher and into the waiting ambulance. He realised that someone would have to notify Alan's family and he probably should not let that be Warren.

-

Light, light, light. It burned through the darkness and Alan became aware of his surroundings. The light was clinical white and the silence was broken by the scraping of a chair echoing around obviously bare room.

"Alan, can you hear me?"

Alan blinked hard several times bringing his father into focus. He saw the worry lines dissipate into a smile as he nodded slowly.

"Try to stay awake, I'll just let the nurse know." Jeff disappeared from his son's view leaving Alan to inspect his surroundings. The curtain was drawn around his bed so all he could really see was an empty bedside drawer and an IV pole extending above the head of his bed. The wall had a small window facing into what appeared to be the corridor, but from his vantage point all he could see was more fluorescent lights. The soft sound of footprints alerted him to his fathers return.

"Hello Alan, I'm your nurse, Margaret," the woman said. "It's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

Alan considered this. Strangely, he felt fine. Everything seemed further away than usual and slightly flat, but he instantly recognised this as a mild concussion. He probably had a pounding headache, raw skin and a few bangs, but beneath the smooth layer of drugs it was all dulled and overwhelmed by the desire to sit down with the team and figure out what had happened. "OK."

"Good, do you remember what happened?" Margaret asked.

Alan nodded so Margaret continued "You're on morphine, so don't be surprised if you start to feel a few aches and pains in a few hours. If it gets too much then let me know and I might be able to top you up. Try to keep the oxygen mask on as much as you can because you inhaled a lot of smoke. You've got extensive bruising on your chest and concussion so we'll be keeping you in for at least 24 hours."

"Thanks." Alan mumbled through the oxygen mask.

She smiled. "Don't thank me, it's that darned toy of yours you have to thank for this." Alan attempted to laugh politely, but felt his ribs protest.

Turning to Jeff, Margaret said, "I'll leave you to it, let me know if you need anything."

As soon as she left Jeff immediately sat down next to Alan's bed. He looked Alan over for a minute then smiled and picked up his hand and squeezed it tight. "I'm glad you're alright."

Alan smiled. "It's not even that big a deal, you didn't really need to come."

"My son catches on fire and it's not a big deal?"

"Uh, the Stoker was designed by a Dr Taylor. So technically it's not yours."

Jeff gave Alan an exasperated look and Alan smiled. "Oh, you meant me!" he exclaimed in mock surprise.

The fact that Alan was making jokes made him a lot more assured of his well being. He had to admit that the call from Kenny had frightened him. Of course, Alan's brief comeback to motorsport had been anticipated. Prior to his holiday he had been reminiscing about his champion days and had taken his car out whenever the chance arose. Of course Jeff understood that motor racing entailed certain risks he had actually felt that Alan would be in less danger than he was in International Rescue. It was for that reason alone that the call had surprised him so much. It was certainly not the first time he had received such a call and at least this time there were no broken bones.

"Hey Father," Alan called to his father lost in thought, "I really am OK, you know."

"I know. I was just thinking that getting phone calls like that don't do my health any good."

Alan smiled; he could barely comprehend how much worry his father must go through every time he sent his sons out into a danger zone. "Who called you?"

"Kenny."

"Oh, really? Is he around?" Alan's interest in the cause of the accident resurfaced. His father put up rather poor competition for his attention when there was cars to be discussed.

"Yeah, he was here until I turned up, but went off to get some coffee."

"On my money, no doubt." Alan muttered.

"Sorry?"

"Never mind, father. Just, can you ask him to come and see me next time you see him…I want to talk to him about the crash."

"He tells me that they don't know what caused it yet. But I don't think that Warren is blaming you."

Alan laughed. "Warren will be blaming everyone." His eyebrows then knitted. "It's probably nothing, but she seemed to be running quite rich. In fact, it's felt that way for days."

Jeff patted his son on the shoulder. "Maybe you just weren't used to the car. But don't worry about that for now, just get some rest and they'll have you back in the garage paying for it in a couple of days."

Alan sighed. "I'm not going to make the race, am I?"

"Sorry boy." The reply was instinct, but Jeff wondered if he really was. It was a much more relaxing feeling having his son wrapped up in the cotton wool of drugs and nestled safely in a bed than watching him scream around the tarmac in a machine he had not personally designed. Of course it was not nearly as satisfying as watching Alan scream past the finish line several seconds before any of the other drivers.

Alan waved a hand weakly. "Ah, it's OK. I was just looking forward to being back on the track. This is supposed to be my holiday."

"Well then you'll be doing what _normal_ people do on holiday then won't you? Lying down." As Jeff spoke Scott walked in. "Isn't that right, Scott?" Jeff asked.

"But Dad, you must know that Alan's not normal."

"Scott!" Alan protested.

"Hey Alan, how are you?"

"I'm fine."

"Glad to hear it."

"So what are _you_ doing here?"

"I had to fly Father over."

"Father can fly for himself."

"Yes, Father can," Jeff interrupted, "But Dad thought that Scott might want to come too."

Alan grinned at Scott. "Caught out, you care about me. You really care about me!" he squeaked in a high pitch, melodramatic voice.

"Hey! Gordon and Virgil wanted to come too." Scott whined defensively. "But yeah, glad you're alright."

"You guys act like I've never crashed before."

"Well, on TV it looked pretty dramatic."

"It was on TV?"

"Yeah, 6 o'clock news."

"Wow! Gee…I haven't made the news since I won my Grand Prix."

"Uh…Alan?" Scott ventured, thinking of all the news flashes that he and his brothers had starred in as International Rescue.

Alan understood Scott's implication. "Bah, that doesn't count. Nobody knows who it is."

"You mean, Tracey doesn't know who it is?" Scott asked, alluding to a young mechanic who had caught Alan's eye in the last week. Fortunately he had not acted on the attraction yet and so nobody had started making the inevitable Tracy Tracey jokes.

"Alright boys, lets remember that your father is here." Jeff interjected.

"Oh come on Dad, it's not like you don't know more about our love lives than we do."

Jeff just smiled knowingly.

"Anyway, Alan, I've just had a talk to Malone. They've recovered your heap of bolts and are going to run a full analysis. Wilson is just about jumping out of his chair to talk to you and get your side of the story. You ready to have a chat to him?"

Alan turned to his father, "Would you mind?"

Jeff shook his head. His son's devotion to the team reminded Jeff of himself in his earlier days. That devotion was of course focussed on other things, but the single mindedness was the same.

"Thanks." Alan acknowledged. Then he turned to Scott; "Do you want to get Warren?"

"Uh, not really, but I will." Scott replied, pulling back the curtain just about to leave when Kenny just about walked into him. "What is this, Central Station?" Scott cried.

"Sorry man." Kenny said. Then to Alan: "Hey Al, how are ya feeling?" His flippant tone hid well the terror that he had experienced while watching the flames wrap around the Stoker.

"For the fourth time, I'm fine." Alan replied, wondering idly if he should put up a sign.

"Actually, he has bruised ribs, a concussion and second-degree burns." Scott put in, having talked to Margaret earlier. Alan glared at him. "But other than that…" he finished. Alan continued to glare. "I'm going to go and get Wilson." He pointed over his shoulder and seeing that Alan had not changed his expression ducked past the curtain.

"Ouch, Alan, remind me never to make fun of your failures." Kenny said after Scott had left.

"I do. All the time. And you still do it. All the time."

Kenny laughed. "You're right. So, you reckon you're ready for Warren?"

"To be honest, I can't wait. What exactly happened, Ken?"

Kenny shook his head. "We don't know. Data collection failed several seconds before the fire burst out and most of the readings seemed fine."

Alan's eyebrows knitted tightly. "It doesn't make any sense." He thought about it for a minute, waiting for Warren's arrival.

When Warren came in he did not waste any words. He pulled up the other chair that everyone else had been politely ignoring and sat down next to Alan. "So Alan, can you explain this to me?"

"I was kind of hoping that you could." Alan replied. "I've been getting a strange response from her ever since I hit the tarmac. It feels just like some petrol head set her up, running way rich." He squeezed his eyes shut for a second. "I remember when I put my foot down, there was hesitation, very pronounced. Engine sounded fine though."

Warren looked at Alan a little suspiciously. "How hard did you hit your head?"

"I know, it sounds like nothing. But other than that she's responding beautifully. Absolutely amazing for a road car really."

Warren considered it for a moment, then turned to Kenny. "We've talked about this before. Is there any chance that there's still something happening in the carb?"

Kenny shook his head. "There shouldn't be. Ever since Alan brought it up we've been looking into it. Other than the hose incident everything seems to be in perfect running order. With such a violent reaction I'd probably say that the Stoker has some fundamental difficulty with an IDA, possibly even carbs. Like an engineering freak of nature. I'd have to go back to the Stoker's original designs to see if there is something I missed."

"So what are you recommending?" Warren asked, always looking for the bottom line.

"Given the time constraints, I'd say we just throw GDI in there - anything more and the weight will be a problem. But I'd consult the regulations very carefully because whether or not it's explicitly stated, putting injection back on the racetrack in a classics class could cause a bit of a stir. So I'd also consult whomever you are going to throw in the driver's seat."

"Injection!" Warren jeered.

"It's only been twenty years since fuel injection was made compulsory in cars, so technically speaking it's entirely possible for the regulations to allow it. It's not like we're going to throw in atomic power and it's not like we're in the top leagues. It's just a little backyard fun."

Kenny instantly realised he had gone too far. Warren took in a deep breath and held it for a second. Then he exhaled in a roar, "This may not be Formula One, Malone, but I can tell you that we treat it with every bit of respect that you hold your precious Amon team. I expect full commitment from my team. We solve problems with respect to conventions, not just turning the regs to our advantage." Turning to Alan he continued. "That includes you, Tracy. I expect you back in the garage by tomorrow morning and we'll figure this out!"

Jeff jumped up, and stood menacingly over Warren. He spoke in a low and dangerous voice, "My son is in hospital because of your team. And that is where he will _stay_ until he is well enough to leave. In fact, he should be resting now, not surrendering to your ridiculous finger-pointing games!"

To his credit, Warren did not flinch. He simply stood up, gathered his coat and said, "The investigation begins tomorrow morning. Tracy, Malone." With a slight nod to each he left.

Jeff sat back down in his chair and picked up Alan's hand, rubbing it furiously. "Don't you listen to him, son, you just stay here 'til you're good and ready."

Alan pulled his hand away. "Father, I'm fine. It's just a concussion."

Margaret, having heard the noise, came bustling in. Her eyes widened at the sight of all the people surrounding her patient. "I'm going to have to ask you gentlemen to leave, Alan needs his rest."

Kenny pushed himself away from the wall he had been leaning on. He walked up to Alan and shook his hand. "Good to see you're OK, Alan. I guess I'll see you." He silently mouthed the addition 'tomorrow morning' to Alan, careful that Jeff did not see.

"Thanks for everything, Kenny. Have a good night's rest and let me know if you figure anything out." Kenny nodded, remembering the times he used to call Alan up in the middle of the night just to tell him about the ideas which woke him up.

Scott looked over at Margaret to see if Kenny leaving had appeased her. Seeing that she had not moved he thought he too would leave for a while, until her shift was over at least. Knowing that this would be in approximately half an hour he excused himself to go and let his family know that Alan was alright.

Jeff was not even surprised when Margaret did not attempt to make him leave. He was however surprised when Alan asked for his release papers. She put up the obligatory protest and went off to find a doctor.

"Alan, you can't seriously think you're going back to the garage in the morning."

"But there's nothing wrong with me. Just a concussion. And I know all the warning signs. If the headache gets worse, blurred vision, if I start throwing up, extreme confusion bla bla bla then I come back to the hospital."

"I know that Wilson is important to you, but he's just frustrated and being unreasonable. You need to look after yourself."

"Father, I'm not doing this for Warren. I'm doing it for me. This is my holiday and I wanted to spend it racing because who knows when the chance will arise again. In a weeks time I have to relieve John and after that I'll be back on rescues and I just want to enjoy this while I can. And I really want to figure out what happened. Just like you would if one of the birds failed…and don't you try to deny it, you know you wouldn't rest until you knew."

Jeff sighed. The trouble with having children that took after you was that you understood them far too well to argue with them sometimes. Lucille had always said that he and Alan were far too alike to get along. After a fight they were both too stubborn to apologise; instead, after some psychically agreed cease-fire period they just forgot about the altercation and went back to normal, ready for the next round. "Alan…"

"See, you can't even argue with me."

Jeff sighed and put an arm around Alan while they waited for the doctor.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two 

Kenny smiled as he watched Alan shuffle in. He had not wanted Alan to turn up today, but expected nothing else and did not see the point in arguing. Alan's presence indicated that his father felt the same way. He went up to him, dragging a chair along. "Sit down before you fall down, Al."

"Good morning to you too." Alan lowered himself into his chair, wondering if his ribs really were just bruised.

From nowhere Kenny produced another long black. Alan took it suspiciously. "Bets made while on morphine don't count, you know?"

"Would I take advantage of a good friend while mortally wounded and lying in the hospital?" Kenny asked.

Alan gave him a pointed look which asked if Kenny really wanted to hear his answer. Kenny chuckled. "Don't worry, this one's on me."

Alan offered his thanks before taking a sip of the hot coffee, wondering if anyone could ask for a better friend than Kenny. "So what have we got then," he asked, rolling the chair over to the computer console. The data that had been received just before the accident was already on screen.

Kenny pulled up another chair beside him and sat down. He grabbed a pen from the desk and used it as a pointer. "The warm up went fine. All readings normal. No residuals in the exhaust. You know, they say you have good mechanical empathy, but I think it's probably only with cars with masochistic tendencies - look at this, as soon as you gunned it, something happened." Alan nodded along. "At a guess I'd say some sort of catastrophic failure."

"No," Alan shook his head; "The engine was warm."

"Yes, Alan, the engine was very warm. It was on fire." Kenny laughed.

"But not due to some catastrophic failure."

"You're saying it was coincidence?"

"I don't know what I'm saying, but I'm thinking that we should be taking a look at the carcass."

"OK, most of it's in the lab, a few of the guys were working on it yesterday arvo." Kenny watched in sympathy as Alan pulled himself up from his chair and balanced himself. "You sure you should be here?"

"I'm fine!" Alan insisted. He had already had this argument with Scott when he picked him up from the hospital this morning. Scott had insisted that he would be back in a few hours to check on him though. Alan had tried to protest, but when Scott offered to let their father come instead, he grudgingly agreed.

-

Several hours later Alan sat at a bench with the charred remains of the Stoker scattered about in front of him. He rested his aching head on his hands and rested for a moment breathing deeply, trying to figure it out. In the corner sat Kenny at a drawing board studying the Stoker drawings. When Scott walked in he did not even need to ask how the investigation was going. He pulled a stool up next to Alan who looked up at him, bleary-eyed.

"I'm alright," Alan put in before Scott even had a chance to ask.

"Really?" Scott asked kindly.

Alan sighed. It seemed there was no way of avoiding the constant asking after his wellbeing. "Yeah, really. But…no joy here." He waved his hand over the table.

"Any idea where the fire originated?"

"Second cylinder. But why is anyone's guess. The whole thing is a mess, not much to go on."

Scott nodded and picked up one of the jets infront of him and studied it.

"Third cylinder," Alan told him. Scott nodded.

The silence between them lasted a few minutes, both just sitting and staring blankly.

Becoming slightly uncomfortable, Scott tried to start up the conversation again. "So who's going to drive tomorrow?"

"Some guy Richards."

"Don't know him."

"Me neither."

"Oh."

The silence took over for a few minutes more.

"You want some coffee?" Alan offered Scott.

"Uh, yeah, sure."

"Kenny?" Alan called.

"What?"

"Coffee?"

"Yeah. Thanks." He spoke without even lifting his head.

Scott watched Alan disappear, satisfied that he seemed steady on his feet. Logically he knew that concussion did not usually result in life threatening situations, but that did not stop him worrying. He returned his attention to the jet in his hand. Bored with its aesthetic qualities he picked up another item from the table. As he turned it around he noticed a crack extending half way around its diameter - a clean one at that. He squinted closer.

"Hey Malone?" he called.

This time Kenny looked up. "Yeah?"

"You know there is a crack in this valve from the third cylinder?"

"Yeah, it would have happened after the fire though."

"Oh, I don't think so." Scott replied.

Kenny's curiosity was piqued. He stood up and came over. Scott handed him the part. "Look, there's a well defined line of fracture, extending out from the leading edge. But I can tell you one thing, I'm pretty sure it happened before the fire – look at the direction of the chevrons, following from the beach marks."

"Stresses induced by failure? Faulty component?"

"Well, assuming the same thing happened in the second cylinder, that would make two faulty components."

"Which is rather unlikely, don't you think?" Kenny asked, losing interest as the supposed discovery did not seem to be yielding results.

"Maybe." Scott did not sound convinced. "You got an SEM we could put this under?"

Kenny shook his head. "Not here, but there is one at Warren's lab in town."

"You think he'd mind?"

"Dunno, you could ask him. Might want to work it through Alan though."

"You reckon it's worth it?"

"Well lets put it this way, we haven't got anywhere so far. You could probably blame it on magical pixies at this point and someone would look into it."

Scott smiled and nodded. "Hey Alan!"

Alan was obviously out of earshot as he did not instantly appear at Scott's will. Scott jumped off his stool and went to go and talk to him.

"Tell him to hurry up with the coffee," Kenny called after him.

-

Scott adjusted his legs for what felt like the hundredth time. He knew that everyone else in the room was probably staring at him, wondering about his restlessness. He didn't care, this was the second time in two days he had been made to wait in this damned hospital to see his brother and he did not enjoy it.

He had found Alan in the break room, back against the cupboards, breathing heavily. "Somethings wrong, Scott." he had said. With those three words Scott's heartrate had doubled. Wishing for something to check Alan's pupil reaction or blood pressure Scott had called out for help. The ambulance had come and he had ended up in this damned waiting room again and his father still hadn't arrived yet and damn it all to hell! Scott jumped up again and continued pacing, looking at his watch yet again. He was in fact so engrossed in his worried waiting that he did not notice when Dr Chung came looking for him.

"Excuse me, Mr Tracy?"

Scott's head snapped up and he found himself eye to eye with Dr Chung. "Dr, sorry, how is he?"

"He's fine."

"Really?"

Dr Chung smiled at Scott's incredulity. "Well, his concussion is rather serious, but we've run scans and there is no sign of intercranial bleeding."

"But…what happened then?"

"Concussion is not a good thing, Mr Tracy. It means that the brain has taken a fairly hard knock and consequently some signals come through a little muddled. As far as we can tell, your brother will be fine, but this time I would strongly suggest that Alan stay in the hospital where we can keep an eye on him. Such procedures are in place for a reason."

"Oh, don't worry about that, I'll hold him down myself if that's what it takes."

Dr Chung laughed. "I shouldn't think that will be necessary, he seems rather embarrassed about the whole incident."

"Can I see him?" Scott asked.

She nodded, "Sure, he's just down the corridor, left then right, Ward 2A."

Scott thanked her and made his way towards the ward.

Once there he quickly located Alan's bed number from the digital readout on the wall and counted along the corridor. When he found the right room he walked in to see Margaret laughing. "Figured I'd be seeing you again, Mr Tracy," she said to Alan, not noticing Scott.

"What? You knew that I was going to have freakishly bad luck." Alan asked, a little bitterly although at the same time knowing he was taking his frustration out on an innocent victim.

"Well, you were just begging Mr Murphy for it when you checked yourself out." Margaret continued seemingly unperturbed by his tone.

"Who's Murphy?" Alan asked, screwing his forehead up in confusion.

Margaret raised a disbelieving eye at him.

Alan thought for a minute, then mouthed an understanding 'oh' "Murphy's law."

Margaret laughed and turned to leave. It was then that she saw Scott who had been waiting just around the corner. "Don't you got getting him all excited again, will you? I think that this time I might have convinced him to stay put."

Scott nodded numbly and Margaret left. Walking further into the room Scott greeted Alan with a small wave. "Hey Alan."

"Hey Scott."

"You alright?"

"Scott do you remember that time that you broke your wrist at that mountain in Peru and you just about went crazy with everyone checking up on you every twenty seconds?"

"Sorry." Scott apologised, realising what Alan was telling him. He pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed. "So the Doc seems to think you'll be alright. Your head is a little harder than we thought. I guess I should go check for potholes in the tarmac."

"Yeah, she just saw me fifteen minutes ago. Seems like it was a false alarm."

"Well not really, you're concussed. You should be in the hospital."

"Lets not have this discussion again." Alan grumbled

"OK. So how about that weather, huh?"

"Scott!" Alan protested.

"Well it seems every other topic of discussion has been vetoed." Scott replied without hesitation.

"Look, I'm fine, but I was feeling really wonky. But it seems that I just need a little more rest, which means I'm in here for another day or so. Now can we please talk about something interesting?"

"Like?"

"Like why the hell this happened in the first place." Alan fidgeted with the blanket draped over his lap, avoiding Scott's eye.

"Kenny's looking into it."

"He's not going to find anything!" Alan cried in frustration, finally looking Scott in the eye.

"They think that there might be some design conflicts carbing the-"

"Come on, Scotty, that's bullshit and you and I both know it. Nothing like that has ever been heard of. Something has been screwy with that car from day one."

"So you tell me what happened."

"You deaf or something? I don't know. None of us do. If Kenny can't figure it out then we're probably not going to ever know."

Scott sighed and leaned back in the chair rubbing his hands over his face. "Do you remember that time the Fireflash kept going down?"

Alan nodded, "Sure I do. You refused to bail out of a crashing plane."

"Somewhat like you refused to stay in the hospital." Scott replied, wondering if maybe he knew his brother's a little too well. Still living together gave them plenty of ammunition.

"That's a totally separate thing, there was no imminent danger."

"But the principles the same, we're not mechanics, we're engineers and we have to know why. It's why I couldn't bail and it's why you took a stupid risk going into the lab this morning."

"What's your point?"

"Well, do you remember why the Fireflash was crashing?"

"Yeah, outside influence - sabotage, there was nothing wrong with it."

"Exactly!" Scott cried.

"You're saying someone is sitting on the back of the stoker cutting wires?" Alan's voice dripped with incredulity.

"No, but it's a good analogy."

"Scott, I think you're being a tad paranoid."

"I don't know if I am. After you went to get coffee, before I…" Scott's voice faltered a little at the memory, "found you…I was looking at the third cylinder - there's a pretty well defined crack all the way around the valve."

"The Stoker crashed - there are going to be broken components."

"Alan! Will you listen for a sec. We're talking about two faulty components in the same engine."

"They don't have to be faulty - believe it or not, but when a car catches on fire some unexpected stresses arise throughout the engine."

"I'm pretty sure this isn't a stress fracture."

"Come on, what are the odds of two faulty cylinders in one car?"

"Pretty slim, unless you're stacking the odds."

Alan considered this for a moment. "Lets just entertain the idea for a moment. Where exactly were these cracks? Are they fatigue, brittle or what?"

"It _looks_ like fatigue, but I'm not so sure. I suggested to Malone that we put the thing under Wilsons SEM."

"What exactly are you expecting to find?"

"Not really sure yet, but you have to admit it would explain a lot."

"I think you're clutching at straws. Honestly, why would anyone care about ruining the team - it's hardly high profile. And it's sure not for the winnings. Certainly not for all the work you're proposing someone put into getting me killed."

"You just answered your own question."

"What?" Alan searched Scott's face. "Stop talking in riddles."

"What if they're not trying to ruin the team. What if they're trying to kill you?"

"Oh come on, Scott."

"Hey, I've had a lot longer to think about this than you. And cars may not be my thing, but before you were born planes still ran on almost identical components." Scott paused for a moment and furrowed his brow. "What the firing order on the Stoker?"

"6, 5, 3, 2, 4, 1. Why?"

Scott scribbled the numbers down on his hand and studied it for a second. "That's a slightly odd order isn't it?"

"It's fitted with a variable counterbalance giving a bit more freedom. I guess the order balances some secondary couples or something."

"Or something."

"Scott, you're doing that thing again."

"Alan, listen, do you remember exactly what happened in the crash?"

"Yeah, I put my foot down, the car went boom and I drove into a wall."

"Did you ever flood the carb?"

"Scott, please, I'm a professional."

"Alan, just answer the question."

Alan hung his head "I came close, I suppose."

"And what if you flooded the engine?"

"What?"

"What if the valves were designed to fail? As soon as enough force was thrown behind them, they'd break. For a split second, you've got a vacuum, fuel could rush into the engine and if you were lucky enough to get a spark-"

"Then you'd get a pretty decent flambe a la Alan."

"Exactly."

The two stared at each other for a second pondering the realisation.

"You never answered my question." Alan finally ventured.

"What question?"

"Why on earth would someone want to kill me? It's only a brief comeback and not many people even know about it."

"Well, you are the son of a very wealthy man."

"So what does killing me do? Piss off one of the richest men in the world with more assets at his fingertips for revenge than any other man I can think of?"

"Well, I'll admit that's where my theory falls down. But there was another reason I thought about."

"Which would be?"

"What if someone knows?"

"Knows what?"

"_Knows_." The emphasis and the heavy look in Scott's eye brought the realisation to Alan that he was referring to their biggest secret.

"They couldn't and if they did, wouldn't they have better things to do than just knock me around a little. I mean I'm hardly hurt."

"But you could have been."

"Scott, it's getting late and you are being ridiculous. Go and talk to Kenny, he's probably figured it out already."

What Alan did not see was his older brothers indecision. While he realised he was probably just being paranoid; it was hard not to be when guarding one of the worlds biggest secrets. And he didn't like the though of leaving Alan alone when somebody could be out there with some unknown malevolent intentions. "I think I'll just wait until Father shows up."

Alan sighed and nodded, not willing to admit that he was still feeling rather woozy and enjoyed having someone there for the moment. However, it wasn't long after he lay back that he slipped into a quiet slumber.

Scott leaned back into his chair watching Alan rest. Seeing it assuaged his fears somewhat. He turned over the discussion in his mind, running himself into corners everytime. Logically, it felt like paranoia - a desperate explanation for the unexplainable, like little green men, pollution and sock gnomes. But there was still that frustrating feeling that there was no other explanation. He had not wanted to worry his father with his imaginings, but after almost half an hour decided that it would be the only way to put his mind at rest. His father would remind him exactly how ridiculous the entire notion was and probably offer a perfectly reasonable explanation of what happened. With that resolution in his head he drifted off as Alan had.

-

"Scott." Jeff whispered, shaking his eldest son's shoulder.

Scott winced and took in a deep breath. Blearily he opened his eyes and looked up and his father for a second before his attention quickly shifted back to Alan. Seeing that he was still asleep, Scott stood up and quietly shuffled out of the room, followed by Jeff.

Once they were both in the corridor they could resume normal tones. "How is he?" Jeff asked.

"He's alright."

Jeff cocked his head slightly, dubious of Scott's affirmation.

Given his father's expression, Scott decided to elaborate. "Well, I mean it's a pretty serious concussion. They had to do a scan to check for any bleeding, but nothing turned up. He really just needs to get some rest."

"Which means that we're going to have to keep that Wilson character away from him."

"Father, you and I both know that Alan would have done what he did even if Wilson had demanded that Alan stayed in bed."

Jeff nodded, "I know." Then he laughed as if something had just occurred to him.

Scott frowned, confused.

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed that we all understand this obstinate stubborn behaviour because we are all guilty of it."

Scott wondered if this had actually cleared anything up or just made him more confused.

Jeff continued with a smile on his face, his dimples more pronounced than usual. "Never mind, I'm just glad he's alright. Twice in two days is just ridiculous."

"I know," Scott replied. His voice faded away, hesitant.

"Scott?" Jeff took his understanding fatherly tone he had mastered after many years of many children.

"He scared me." Scott knew that his voice was about to crack so stopped.

Jeff looked at Scott awkwardly before pulling him into a brief hug. They parted uncomfortably, a little too aware of their public surroundings for such a display. "You'd think I'd be used to it - you know, walking in on that sort of thing."

Jeff nodded thoughtfully.

Without any outward signs the two realised that the emotive roadblocks were now out of the way and they agreed to go and get something real to eat downstairs. As Jeff went in to look over Alan for a few minutes more Scott stood in the hallway practicing exactly how he would approach the other topic fraying his mind.

It turned out that he needed no lead in though. Jeff obviously had been talking to Warren and was concerned that nothing had eventuated. Warren had temporarily suspended the investigation until after the race. Qualifying was just around the corner and he needed all hands on deck to get the new fuel injected car up to a standard that could compete with the other runners.

"About that," Scott lead in, "before all this happened, I was looking in on Alan and I think I might have a theory on all of this." Scott looked up from his coffee and saw his father nod encouragement for him to continue. He took another bite of his steaming pie before continuing. "Well, I was looking at one of the valves and I noticed a small crack extending around it. I think, I mean, I was just wondering if maybe it was possible…" he swallowed and searched his father's face, "that maybe someone had tampered with the engine." Scott cringed inwardly. Saying it to his little brother seemed easy - it was just like the games that Alan would insist that he play. But saying it to his father made it seem even more ridiculous than ever.

"Hmmm…" Jeff said.

"I know it seems a little ridiculous, but there seems to be no other explanation."

"I've toyed with the idea."

"What?" Scott asked sharply.

"Well, Warren and his team can't figure it out - logically it seems that this shouldn't have happened. I'm guessing that the investigation is going to conclude either a freak accident or foul play."

"And that doesn't worry you?" Scott was perturbed by his father's matter of fact tone.

"Of course it worries me, but worrying Alan too won't achieve anything. Especially since all we have is speculation."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Nothing."

Scott frowned.

"Look, Scott, we face danger everyday. If someone is going to come after us, at least we are equipped to deal with it. Alan's going to be safe while he's in the hospital and in another week he'll be back on the Island and even safer. For the time being, I've got to get back home and I know I can trust you to take care of things here."

Scott was almost surprised by the fact that his father did not surprise him at all. He nodded numbly.

"Hey!" Jeff called, seeing the lack of enthusiasm. "You know I'd want to be here, but Rocket Fuel doesn't grow on trees you know and someones gotta keep the bank balanced."

"Yeah, Father, I know."

"Yes."

"Yes." Scott repeated, wondering if he should slouch to prove a point, but looking at his father's tight jaw he realised that after all he had been through today it would not be a good idea to push him. Whatever he said, Scott knew Alan had scared his father just as much as himself.

It was closer to 48 hours later that Alan was given the all-clear again. This time he chose to remain until the doctors felt he was ready to leave, slightly shaken by the entire affair and simultaneously reminded of his own mortality. Scott almost wished they had kept him on longer, just in case.

Alan returned to the garage for the post-race maintenance and tests with more than a little sadness. He knew his father would expect him back by in two days as he was due to take over for John on Thunderbird 5 and still he had not received the competition he had been looking forward to. He enjoyed meeting his replacement though and was suitably impressed by the young man's skill and thus held no particular grudge against him. Logic aside, the anti-climactic end to his holiday left him feeling worse than he had when he finally decided it was time for said holiday. Scott stayed with him until it was time to return. He did not appear to consider his unusual and enjoyed the company. Not to mention the fact that Scott was inevitably handy to have around the garage.

"Alan, listen, I got a chance to have a look at this under the SEM."

"Yeah?"

"Look at this." Scott held out some images for Alan to inspect. Alan flicked through them, studying a couple in particular. "Fatigue then?" he ventured, noticing the characteristic striations.

"Yeah," Scott agreed, "but look at the data – with that sort of cycling we should be seeing a lot longer life than what Wilson tells me."

"How old was she anyway?" Alan asked, taking a quick look at the pictures again, "Couldn't be much less than a few months."

"Nine days." Scott replied emphatically, catching Alan's eye.

He was met with disbelief and confusion. "Oh come on Scotty, fatigue in nine days – you'd have to have it running One or something for that sort of failure."

"That's what I thought, so I ran a spectral analysis and guess what turned up."

Alan shrugged, not patient enough to play games.

"Nearly 2 Hydrogen."

"What!"

Scott nodded. "Hydrogen embrittlement."

"We gotta tell someone, there'll be people driving on these things. They'll have to recall the batch or something."

"Nope."

"What do you mean, no? This is a damn death trap, we have to get them off the road."

"Alan, listen to me, I rang Crystler, they didn't know what I was talking about."

"So they know and they're covering up."

"I don't think so – they asked for the chassis number and they said it should be wrapped around 2 litre engine."

"It's hardly a trade secret to put a larger engine in a car."

"That may be true, but still if the chassis number doesn't match the engine someone had plenty of opportunity to tamper with it. And with levels of Hydrogen this high there really is no way a batch should have passed through quality control. If there was a mistake this bad someone would have heard about it before now. Face, it, the likely option is that someone has been playing around with your car."

Alan opened his mouth to venture more disbelief but could not find any logical argument. "No way," was all he could manage.

-

Alan was fairly certain that he did not imagine Scott's hovering for the rest of the day. However, given that he was going home tomorrow and should not have to put up with it there, he allowed it.

However, in one of his brief periods of separation Kenny took the chance to talk. "Yo, Al, you wanna celebrate tonight?"

"And by celebrate you mean 'get drunk'?" Alan asked.

"Exactly."

"Well when you put it that way…" Alan replied, clearly not convinced, but upon a quick reflection changed his mind. "Actually, you know what, lets do it. It's the last time I'll get to see you for a while."

"Before you disappear into the ether again?"

"Something like that."

"I sure hope she's worth it."

"She?"

"Whoever it is. Only a woman can make a man give up the thing he loves most."

"Kenny, look-"

"Alan, don't, whatever the birds name is or who she is or why it's a big secret, I don't have to know if you don't want to tell me. You're my friend and I respect that you need some secrets."

Kenny's use of the word 'bird' unnerved him a bit. Instead of replying he just nodded. It was easier that way. "Where?"

"After Wilson's let us off we'll head down to the local and see what happens from there."

"Sounds good."

"Bring Scott if you want. Although I don't think you'll have much choice. He should have flown helicopters rather than planes."

Alan smiled, "Yeah, he can get a bit overbearing."

"Give him some credit, you didn't see the crash." From his expression Alan could tell that Kenny was seeing it all play over in his head again.

"Yeah, but I'm fine now."

"Maybe you shouldn't be drinking so soon after a concussion."

"We'll take it easy."

"Uh huh. Shall I remind you of that when you're hitting on the 5th girl at 4 am insisting that you're still sober."

Alan laughed, "Something like that," he replied, instantly thankful that Tin Tin was not around to hear of his antics.

Kenny misinterpreted his glazed look and poked Alan in the ribs, "Ah, so you're having a one girl night, huh? Don't worry, I'll make sure that Tracey is there."

"Kenny, no." Alan whined.

Kenny just waved a dismissive hand and walked off, passing Scott as he did so. Alan caught Scott's eyes and was very suddenly aware that something was wrong.

Scott grabbed Alan's arm and whispered in his ear, "Kurayoshi, Tottori, Japan – building collapse." Then Scott turned to leave and Alan started to follow. "Not you," Scott hissed, "you're not a hundred percent yet. Virgil, Gordon and myself will handle this one. You enjoy your last day with the crew – this is your holiday, remember?"

Alan nodded submissively.

Scott then called across the room, "Malone!"

Kenny's head shot up from his work. "Yeah?"

"I gotta get back, keep an eye on Alan for me, huh?"

"Scott, I'm right here," Alan protested.

"Sure thing, Scott." Kenny replied cheerfully.

"Guys, I can hear you!" Alan called again.

Still not paying heed to Alan's cries, Scott waved a farewell to the rest of the workshop and left.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"But Father, John has his conference coming up in a couple of days, he'll miss it." Alan protested, having just been informed that he was to stay on Tracy Island for a few more days.

"I spoke to him and he is going to get a link up to the proceedings from Thunderbird Five."

"But he's already been up there for three weeks, that's hardly fair."

"I told him that you were still experiencing headaches and after your last little insistence that you were fine he agreed with me that it's better we keep you here for at least another few days."

"But really, I'm-"

"Fine?" Jeff asked, cutting Alan off. "We've heard that one before. There is no point in arguing this, the decision has been made."

Alan slumped in his chair feeling defeated and the headache did nothing to improve his mood. "Can't you at least send Scott, or Virgil, or Gordon?"

"There really is no point since you'll be up there in a few days. Don't worry about it Alan, just get yourself fully rested. We'll talk about changeover in a few days."

The next few days were however incredibly long for the entire family. Alan was determined to prove just how fine he was and in doing so was driving the rest of his family crazy. In between his endeavours Alan would sneak off to contact John to try and convince him that he would enjoy the conference so much more if he were really there.

While John was occasionally tempted, he consistently refused, usually more frustrated by Alan's intrusion in the middle of a particularly fascinating presentation of some paper or another. It was for this latter reason that Alan was so surprised when John contacted him.

"John, what's up?"

"There's just been a massive explosion of some kind at the convention."

"How bad?"

"I don't know, my telemetry is out and reports have only just started coming in."

"Are we going to be needed?"

"I don't think so, but I'd certainly like to inform father of the events."

As John spoke the words, Jeff came bounding into the room having heard John's alert.

"John, what's happening?"

"Father, there's been an explosion at the convention…" he trailed off and his eyes flicked to a nearby monitor for a moment. "Seems that all three floors have been taken down. Emergency services already on site."

"Ok, it sounds like they're dealing with it alright so far, let us know if they call for help."

"Will do, Father."

John leaned forward to cut off the communications, but was stopped by Jeff. "Oh, and son, keep an eye on the investigation for me, huh? I want to know who did this any why."

"F.A.B."

With that the communication was cut off and Jeff was left alone with Alan. He looked over at him. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine."

"You're sure."

"Yes father."

Jeff seemed to be considering something, indecision evident on his face for several seconds. Then the expression was wiped clear from his face and he regained his stoicism and issued Alan with an order. "Go find your brothers then, I think we need to have a talk."

Alan raised his eyebrows suspiciously, but did not attempt to pursue the matter, knowing it would be faster to obey his instructions.

Moments later Alan returned with three of his brothers in tow. Scott and Virgil had clearly been in the middle of a tennis game and each had a degree of perspiration glistening on their skin. Gordon looked slightly more damp and had probably been swimming earlier that day (a fact which could be deduced without any visual confirmation regardless).

Jeff looked over his sons and then instructed them to sit. As they piled onto the couches Jeff poured himself a whiskey and took a cigar out of the box on his desk, but did not light it. Sitting lightly on the arm of a chair he took in a deep breath.

"Boys, I think we may have some security issues."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth Scott knew what his father was about to explain, however had no idea of the latest developments. However Virgil and Gordon were clearly oblivious to Jeff's meaning.

Jeff continued. "As you know, Alan had an…incident at Harbour Park and Scott and I have suspicions that it may have been caused by sabotage of some sort." Virgil shot Scott a dirty look, clearly displeased with Scott's refusal to share that piece of information with him.

Gordon however was more vocal of his concerns and started, "Really? Alan, is it true?"

"FURTHERMORE," Jeff continued overtop of Gordon who promptly sat back and waited for his father to finish. "Furthermore," he repeated, "John has just informed me that the convention he was to attend in LA has been struck by an explosion of some kind." Knowing that Alan alone was aware of this Jeff took particular interest in Scott's reaction, but Scott's face revealed nothing of his emotion and thus Jeff carried on. "While I am aware coincidence can be a deceptive phenomenon, I do not believe in taking chances and thus effective immediately you are not to leave the island, except for you Alan who will take over duties on Thunderbird Five in two days time. I will co-pilot. We will await the investigative reports on each incident and if either gives me strong enough evidence to believe that foul play is at hand all five of you will be confined to the island until such time as the cause or causes are eliminated, rescues being the obvious exception."

Taking a sip of his whiskey he indicated that he had finished.

Again Gordon was the first to find his voice, "Are you suggesting that they are targeting the Tracy's or International Rescue?"

"The fact that both events have occurred in relation to activities not related to International Rescue indicates that any possible foul play will be targeting the son's of a millionaire, rather than the organisation. Of course, I do not intend to rule the latter out as a possibility."

-

Alan sat heavily onto his bed and rubbed his hands over his face. The discussion had dragged out through the afternoon and John was sporadically included. They had gone over and over the two incidents and Scott had shown the family his findings on the Stoker engine. At that point Brains had been brought into the discussion and Grandma had eventually walked in on the conversation and gave Jeff a mild ear chewing for having to find out 'this way'; an event which gave the boys much entertainment.

Alan was now flooded with thoughts of the crash though. It certainly wasn't his first, but it was unnerving nonetheless. He always remembered being told that every driver has one bad crash which usually slows them down for a long time if not permanently, having reminded them of their own mortality. He would never admit it, but even the follow up admission to the hospital had left him shaken. And to think that it was all caused intentionally, that someone had intended for him to die in that inferno served only to intensify the emotions.

His door creaked open and Tin Tin poked her head around, wordlessly asking for permission to enter.

Alan smiled and indicated for her to come in with a quick flick of his hand. Tin Tin sat on the bed beside Alan and put one arm around Alan's head pulling it onto her shoulder and found his hand with hers. Alan did not resist and for almost fifteen minutes they sat there in silence, barely moving.

When they finally moved and Alan felt much more in control he pulled a small hip flask out of a draw and took a sip. Out of habit he offered it to her, already knowing she would refuse. He did not know how she found out what had transpired, but true to form she was well aware of what was going on. Probably more so than the others as she alone realised how hard this had hit Alan. She had known it the moment that he walked in the front door – he was subdued and his eyes vaguely haunted. She had seen that look in the mirror after often enough after witnessing the accident on TV.

"I can't believe it." Alan mumbled.

"We don't know for sure," Tin Tin ventured. "I mean, it could just be a coincidence."

"You didn't see Scott's report did you?"

"Well, I heard about it, but engines are a little different to biology."

Alan shrugged. "I just can't see how an car could be that horrendously compromised without malicious intent. But the one thing I don't understand is that they left so much evidence of it. I mean shouldn't they at least have tried to cover their tracks."

"Well, it's not so obvious to me. I mean they clearly didn't go for the cliché cut in the brake cable."

"If they want to try that, good luck – the Stoker has disc brakes on all four."

"Alan," Tin Tin whined.

"What? It does? Y'know, hydraulics – they'd get brake fluid everywhere. It'd be a little noticeable."

Tin Tin sighed, resigning any hope of Alan understanding. "Just don't get yourself too worried over it. Your father has this thing covered. If nothing else we're lucky that nobody has been seriously hurt."

Alan mulled the thought over. It was true that the convention had yielded a long list of fatalities and among them some of the brightest minds on the subject. He realised that John's name could have easily been among those and they did indeed have a lot to be thankful for. However, the realisation was a cold comfort as the accompanying logic was that something similar could equally happen at any time.

A moment later Tin Tin shot up. "Hey Alan."

"Mmm?"

"I may not know engines, but I do know chemistry. If you are talking about post forming hydrogenation then you're looking at specialised equipment right?"

"Well technically it could be achieved by anyone with carburising equipment, or nitriding or cyaniding-"

"But the chambers would have to be big enough to fit an engine."

"Most of them are."

"Ok, so maybe the reason they didn't bother to cover their tracks is because they felt confident that they were untraceable. I mean any fingerprints would be long gone, it's a common process and hundreds of people are around the car every day."

Alan stiffened. "But the engine only left the shop a few times." His face slackened in realisation.

"Surely they'd have done it before it even entered the workshop."

Alan shook his head, "No, they would have no way of knowing which engine would be coming our way." He paused considering how easily the acceptance of 'they' had been.

"Where was the engine sourced from?"

"It'll have come from a restorers fresh collection, I'm not sure which."

"But Alan, don't you see? If this was indeed a malicious attack then between the order being packaged and you getting in the car that day only a finite number of people would have had an opportunity to make the modifications."

Alan nodded along and then grabbed Tin Tin's hand. "We'd better tell father."

-

Scott could clearly concede each of the points that his father had listed to him. Yes, he agreed that Alan's theory was logical and was worth looking into. He also agreed that he did not want Alan flying so soon after the accident. He also agreed that Father was a busy man and did not have time to look into the matter in detail. However from what little logic he had studied as a part of his mathematical education he knew that several unfounded and unapparent leaps of mental deduction were what had lead him to his current position – that of sitting in a cockpit for several hours with nothing to entertain him other than the loud snoring of his brother Gordon. It was a sensation that only a pilot could truly understand. The thrill of flight dulled over the years and the interesting stuff only ever really came by with takeoffs and landings and of course wing to wing combat and aeronautics.

The pair had been sent to investigate the source of Alan's engine, see if there was any potential interference, profile the supplier, general PI work. Scott mused that perhaps International Rescue should consider permanently branching out into the field – they seemed to end up doing this more frequently than average Joe off the street. Of course, he would hate it; nothing compared with the thrill of a rescue and it was easily a more important job.

Still none of it answered why it had to be him.

-

"Look, I don't know what sort of game you're playing at, but if it's some sort of lawsuit or insurance scam you can keep it well away from me. I only deal in high quality goods." The business that Scott had traced the engine to appeared to be a one-man outfit. The balding man of diminutive stature was however deceptively strong in his defence. Scott hypothesised that he had dealt with several pushy customers before assuming they could take advantage of the supposed weakness.

"We're not trying to cause trouble, we just want to know the cause of the accident." Gordon appealed.

"Sounds to me like you already know what you want to hear. Well guess what? I'm not your fall guy."

"Please, if you could just tell us who came into contact with the engine while it was here and during its delivery."

"How in the hell do you expect me to know something like that? I haven't got time for this. I've got work to do, you know. This place doesn't run itself." The words were forceful, but the man seemed relatively calm.

"Could you at least tell us the name of the delivery company you use?" Scott broke in.

"Quick-Post." The man quickly replied, picking up a folder that lay to his left, attempting to prove his earlier point.

"Could we see the records for the delivery?"

"Don't you people keep your delivery slips?" He asked with exasperation. He looked at the two, but their expressions remained impassive. He sighed. "I'll have a look OK. But those records go back a few days. It'll take a while."

"Thank you." Gordon offered sincerely, "We appreciate it."

"Good. To properly express that appreciation, how about you duck over to Jay's bakery two blocks down and pick me up one of those nice filled rolls an apple turnover."

Scott smiled and nodded. "I'll go. Gordon, you can stay here and help Mr…."

"Beer, Allen Beer."

"Mr Beer." Scott agreed checking to make sure his wallet was in his pocket before ducking out the door.

Gordon looked back at Allen and offered a trademark saccharine smile. "Where do I start looking?"

Allen sighed again and led Gordon to his office. As soon as Gordon saw the state of the office he realised exactly why this was going to be so hard. Allen looked at Gordon, daring him to say something about the mess. Gordon smiled politely again, but a little weaker than before.

"I've got a file for Wilson's team, they're a regular," Allen explained as he opened a drawer in a filing cabinet and searched through it for a minute. Eventually he pulled out a thick folder and handed it to Gordon.

Gordon reached out to take it, but Allen did not let go. "You're sure that Wilson is ok with this? You're not some sneaky reporters or something are you."

"No, of course not," Gordon replied and seeing Allen's continued indecision he let go of the folder and pulled out his wallet. He extracted his driver's licence and held it out for Allen to see. "I'm Alan Tracy's older brother."

The explanation seemed to satisfy Allen and he offered the folder once more.

Gordon flicked through it, finally finding the documents regarding the Wilson teams most recent orders just as Scott walked back in. Gordon looked up at him, gratefully accepting the snack that he had brought.

Scott nodded at the documents. "Find anything?"

Gordon took a big bite and nodded. "Here's all the details here, picked up on 7 July at 1.23 pm by personnel ID 45234." His words were mumbled by the food rolling around in his mouth.

"Gordon, for goodness sake make sure you don't get food on any of this stuff. That's the last thing we need."

"Really? I mean, I think I can just about document this guy's eating habits from this file alone."

Scott inspected the said paper and noticed that it did contain several grease and ketchup stains. "Yeah, well lets just not make it any worse. Lets get a copy of those papers."

Gordon nodded in agreement and stood up and shoved the papers into the photocopier quickly, not wanted to risk refusal on Allen's behalf. Scott seemed to understand that and stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, blocking any possible view of Gordon.

With their work finished they quickly excused themselves, thanking Allen profusely who seemed to have warmed up to them slightly having some food in his stomach and seeing that they were leaving without any significant trouble.

Once outside and down the road towards the bus stop Gordon and Scott conferred and agreed to check out the delivery company and then call it a day.

Unfortunately the headquarters of Quick-Post were 3 stops away and the lack of air-conditioning on the bus left Gordon feeling sticky and tired and consequently grumpy. Scott, having not enjoyed the benefit of sleep on the way over was also beginning to feel this way, but he was aware of this and resolved not to allow this to affect his behaviour. He could only hope that the company was not as trying as Allen had been.

Unfortunately the secretary at Quick-Post seemed to be extremely busy, indifferent to her job and also incompetent. She responded to their request with what seemed to be a rehearsed answer: that delivery-person identification was not released and all they could do was fill out a complaint form if the goods had been damaged in transit. Her tone of voice clearly indicated that she hoped that was not the case and Gordon and Scott obliged, knowing that such avenues would not yield results.

With that the two retired for the day, with tired eyes and minds. Scott had intended to get Gordon to fly them home, but seeing the fatigue in his brother's face he decided to do it himself…it at least afforded him the pleasure of a smooth takeoff into a beautiful dusk horizon.

-

By the time Scott and Gordon got back to Tracy Island John was back and Alan had started his relief on Thunderbird 5. John was itching to get back out into the 'real world' as he called it and he made it more than obvious that he considered it a brazen deprival of his rights to keep him cooped up in the family home for his brief week on solid ground.

He had quickly been brought up to speed on the latest findings from Scott and Gordon. Alan, Virgil and Jeff had been working through what information John had retrieved on the conference explosion and preliminary reports had concluded a terrorist attack as primarily indicated by the explosives residue and the nature of the incident. However all leads had presently lead to dead ends and thus the group responsible seemed to be indeterminate at this time. Profilers expected that the people responsible would either lay claim to the actions in a matter or weeks or engage in a second similar action. Jeff had declared the results of the collaborative research effort inconclusive and thus the house confinement remained in place.

It did not take 48 hours for John to crack.

"Scott, this is ridiculous. I'm going to the mainland for a few hours. I have to get out of here."

"John, don't be stupid. Father will kill you."

"And staying here won't?"

"No less than what they might." No clarification was required for Scott's reference to 'they'.

"It's all based on coincidence and conjecture. You can't really buy into Father's theory."

"So you blame what happened on what? Someone that's morally opposed to astronomical endeavours." Scott spat derisively.

"Yes!" John cried, "Maybe, religious nuts or something. I don't know, but something. I do not see what anyone could gain from killing any of us."

"And because you cannot see that you are more willing to believe in fanaticism which you claim that you equally validly cannot explain?"

"Scott…" John trailed off and Scott did not interrupt, knowing he was beginning to get through.

John looked over at Scott desperately, trying to find some hint of weakness in his resolve and finding none he hung his head again. "Yes sir," he mumbled.

Scott let the submission hang quietly in the air, fortunately having enough maturity not to gloat over his victory. "Thank you, John," he finally finished "Thank you."


End file.
